


You’ve Got That Medicine I Need (Fame, Liquor, Love, Give It To Me Slowly)

by akingdomofunicorns



Series: Can You Make It Feel Like Home (If I Tell You You're Mine) [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: 'cause I feel guilty for not posting this on axgweek, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boy Bands, Challenge: Tag Frenzy, F/M, Recreational Drug Use, axgweek, or whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akingdomofunicorns/pseuds/akingdomofunicorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She forgets the feeling of belonging to a crowd, the frenzy of a mass of bodies moving against your own, their sweat mingling with yours and their breaths hot in the air. She’s no longer a part of the wave, she’s out and cold, a goddess watching and waiting from the outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You’ve Got That Medicine I Need (Fame, Liquor, Love, Give It To Me Slowly)

**Author's Note:**

> All lyrics are of my own creation. No, really, I'm not joking. I even ended up writing a song to go with Allyria. Fucking awesome, let me tell you.
> 
> I felt guilty for not posting this on axgweek, so I decided that I needed to woman up a little and post it all the same, 'cause the fandom needs a bit more of gendrya to keep breathing. Also, bandboy!gendry, think about it.

The crowd roars and Tom smiles, knowingly. The _Brotherhood Without Banners_ stands on the stage with the grace of a white swan, all muscles, sweat and handsome faces. Below, the audience screams their names with burning throats and Gendry hits some notes with his guitar.

“One last time, Tom,” he says, and the crowd goes wilds, “with feeling.”

Tom laughs and raises his hand upwards, thumb and pinky sticking out, and everyone does the same. It’s their sign, just like Ronaldinho’s, since Anguy is such a fan of the Brazilian football player. Arya loves this, the smell of sweat and weed and french fries, the screams that fight to overplay the music, Gendry’s blue eyes, so alight with passion and love and talent. She watches him as he stands there, just beside Ned on the drums, not too far from Lem on the keys, right across from Beric on the bass and on Tom’s right. He’s shirtless, as he so often is (her father had caught him like that on her bedroom when they had first started dating and it had been awful, she remembers), and the sweat drips down his chest in the same way it does when she’s naked on top of him, with his hands on her hips and his mouth on her nipple —it’s hypnotizing, really, and she wishes for the show to end, to drag Gendry away to some bathroom or to her car so she can have her wicked way with him.

The stage goes black but for a white light that hits Beric and the first few notes of _Allyria_ echo on the stadium. She knows that song like the back of her hand, like she knows how many pebbles her mother keeps in a box under the bed, like the way Sansa smells after a day spent at the beach, with her red hair all tangled and salty and her skin freckled and pink, and she longs for the days when there was no such thing as backstage, when she’d sit on a table in a bar with Allyria and Shireen and Jeyne Heddle would serve them whiskey and beer without asking for their age. They were younger and wilder and Gendry was poorer, of course, and she’d feel her heartbeat on her throat, along with that of other twenty people in the bar, and she’d sing along to _Allyria_ with Tom and Beric’s voices (“ _No money in ‘er pockets, red smiling at me, ‘The name’s Allyria, would you care for a drink?’._ ”). All of that has changed, now; she’s older and quieter, Gendry no longer works at Mott’s to pay the rent and _Allyria_ has given way to _Background Babes_ , _Kings shall fall_ , _No featherbed for me_ and even _Queen of Thorns_. And still she loves him.

Ned hits the climax of the song and the crowd roars again, a girl on someone’s shoulders takes her shirt off and Arya smiles at how her breasts bounce to the rhythm of the music.

“They used to be good,” Allyria says, coming up next to her, “now they’re just breath taking.”

“They are.”

“They have a surprise for the audience tonight.”

“I know. Gendry wouldn’t tell me what it was, though, the idiot.”

Allyria smiles and takes her hand, as her daughter would. Melina is at Sansa’s, with all her cousins: Sansa’s Eddon, Mark and Isadora (Arya had wanted to kill her sister when she’d named her daughter that, but the Smalljon had insisted and it was his daughter after all and Sansa had already named Eddon and Mark), Bran’s Carla and Robb’s Rickard and Jo, alongside Theon’s Libba. Jon’s son is too young, barely five months old, and Rickon is not yet a father, though Lya is just four months away from the birthing bed. There’s way too many children to remember them all and Gendry still wants at least three more, four, if he can push it, to make up for his lonely childhood. She’s willing to compromise, one more now that Melina is three and another one once Melina is ten and _perhaps_ a fourth one once Melina is fourteen and old enough to babysit, but she’s not sure how she’s going to handle two of them, let alone four.

Sometimes she gets lost in thought when she’s hidden by the courtains, watching from the corner, and she forgets the feeling of belonging to a crowd, the frenzy of a mass of bodies moving against your own, their sweat mingling with yours and their breaths hot in the air. She’s no longer a part of the wave, she’s out and cold, a goddess watching and waiting from the outside, the link Gendry has to the real world, out there where it’s scary and anything could happen: to him, to her, to their daughter, to them. She must stay away from such wilderness, so as to keep him tethered to the ground, and she must remind him that she’s flesh and bones, just as him, and that water still turns around from the sea to the clouds and back again. She’s good at it, just as he’s good at his music, and they strike a stunning pair, him so tall and tanned, thick of muscle and with a mop of dark hair and blue eyes, a bull tattooed on his shoulder, so quiet and loving, serious, sweet, and her so tiny and thin, with long, brown hair and a long face and grey eyes, so wild and unforgiving, hard, loud, childish..

“We have a surprise for you, guys,” Beric shouts, grinning like a fool. “Well, the Bull here has a surprise for you. Do your thing, Gendry.”

The wolf snarling on his chest seems to glimmer when he tenses and his fingers move about the cords with ease. The song is new and though she’s heard bits and pieces as Gendry was working on it, she has no idea what the lyrics are or how it goes. She hears a lot of high-pitched screams when the camera zooms in on Gendry’s abs and slowly travels upwards and she has to bite her lower lip to keep from howling in laughter: Gendry is the ladies’ favourite, followed by Ned and then Beric, and she’s always found it amusing, how it feels as if she’d married a member of a boy band, like those One Direction boys, who drive the girls crazy (they’re cute and she’ll _never_ admit it, but she kind of has a thing for that boy Harry and his stupid, perfect, curly hair).

“This one’s new for the lady I met at a bar when she was far too young to be at one. _Schnatzi_ , I’ve titled it, and she knows I’m no poet, but a man does his best.”

More high-pitched screaming and Arya feels tempted to join them. Gendry’s called her _Schnatzi_ ever since she was fourteen and Ygritte got her a fake ID so she could get anywhere. Granted, it didn’t fool anyone since she was so _tiny_ , but it got the job done more often than not. She’d spent three years thinking it meant ‘little one’ and that he was making fun of her small stature, but then Alda had come as an exchange student from Germany and thought they were dating because he actually kept calling her ‘sweetheart’. She’d almost fainted at the knowledge that Gendry had used what little he knew of German from his grandmother to call _her_ , of all people, sweetheart.

_You’ve got smoke on your hair_

_And glitter on you hands;_

_A mouthful of curse words_

_Everytime I stare:_

_You’re like a hurricane_

_Waiting to blow me away._

_You’re like a sweetheart with no crown_

_With your hands up in the air_

_The way you turn me around,_

_You’ve got me hanging upside down_

_And you just don’t care._

_I’ve come to love you anyway._

Allyria rests her head on her shoulder and her forehead is cold on her warm skin. She’s blushing, she knows, as the crowd cheers for Gendry to keep singing. There’s something pulling her back from joining the madness and jumping around, screaming like a fangirl (the memory of the glitter still clinging to her hands from throwing it at her sister while decorating the Christmas tree with her siblings, the smell of the bar Gendry had found her in many years ago that still lingers on her thoughts).

She can feel the tension building up inside her stomach (there’s a pounding in her chest and a dull longing inbetween her legs, the kind of longing that leaves her writhing alone in bed with her hand inside her knickers when Gendry is far away on God-knows-what-city of God-knows-which-tour) but she must wait right where she is until they’re done. It’s hard, because she knows she’ll give in to the frenzy: she’ll take him away like when she was still a horny teenager and he was teaching her to use her tongue to bring him over the edge; she’ll take him to some dark and dirty cupboard and rip his clothes off, pretend she’s seventeen and high again and he’s her older and terrifying boyfriend; she’ll take him away for a shag in the dark while remembering those times the weed was in his blood and the yellow pills where in both their brains while vodka and cherry schnaps made her skin all tingly and bubbly.

 Gendry finishes the song and then the boys play _Red Notebook_ and _Argella Papillion_ , their latest hits, before the concert is done and Gendry leaves the stage. She smiles and throws her bra at him and he’s off chasing her before Beric can shout at them to keep it quiet.

And so it is begun.


End file.
